


Balance of Power

by Gimbat_ash



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimbat_ash/pseuds/Gimbat_ash
Summary: Fingon may be the King, but he lets Maedhros reign in the bedroom.





	Balance of Power

**Author's Note:**

> I found this old story I wrote in my computer. Hope someone out there can enjoy it.

Maedhros paced the floor of the High King’s bedchamber. King Fingon observed this proceeding from the edge of his bed, thinking to himself that it was going to be a good night. It always was when Maedhros was hell-bent on a certain campaign, policy or troop assignment, and right now, he was raving about the day’s council meeting rather than coming to bed. Fingon knew he should be offended, even threatened, that this dispossessed warlord was so blatantly planning and plotting about matters that should belong only to the king. Still, he liked the feeling too much to object, the feeling of being hopelessly dominated this way. It would be different with anyone else, but he trusted Maedhros as he had since childhood, so he could let himself go and give in to lust and the pure rush of adrenaline. He wanted to take this farther than mere talk but the object of his attention had been in a less than willing mood so far this visit.  
“Maitimo,” he spoke Maedhros’s mother-name tentatively.  
“What?” Maedhros snapped, “You think we shouldn’t try to retake Tol Sirion?”  
Undeterred by his cousin’s moodiness, Fingon pressed on, “I think we should discuss such matters in the morning. Right now you’re far too tense and I am weary of being a king tonight.”  
I roguish grin overtook Maedhros’s features and he gripped Fingon’s shoulder. “Then kneel before me and I will be your king this night.”  
“And I your devoted subject.” Fingon’s voice sounded strange to his own ears, breathy and soft, as he said these words. He knelt willingly but Maedhros’s hand pressed on his shoulder just enough to send the message that there was no changing his mind. When Fingon was kneeling, Maedhros’s grip shifted to his hair.  
“Then do your due service.” His meaning was all too clear when he pressed Fingon’s lips against his growing erection. A moan escaped his mouth unbidden and a little voice in Fingon’s mind chided, ‘He undoes you far too easily,’ but he shoved it aside and raised his head to untie with his teeth the knot fastening his lover’s leggings. He was practically panting with anticipation and his own erection strained within its confines. No sooner had he raised his hand to stroke himself when Maedhros yanked harshly on one of his braids. Fingon cried out, but Maedhros only pulled harder until he quieted.  
“I’m sorry. A subject’s first responsibility is to his king.”  
“That’s right.” Maedhros’s voice had become so very deep and husky and his cock was hard and weeping. It was more than Fingon could bear, so he eagerly took the throbbing member to the hilt. Before long, Maedhros’s grip turned to caresses and his stern words to terms of endearment. He was getting close, Fingon knew. It had been far too long for both of them, almost 4 years since they last met. Just when he readied himself to swallow, Maedhros pushed him away.  
“Strip,” he commanded.  
Fingon complied but commented, “But you were so close.”  
Maedhros sat down on the edge of the bed and replied, “One hoping to command others must first have command of himself.”  
A now-naked Fingon chuckled, “Perhaps that is my problem.” As if to prove his point, he sprawled out most wantonly beside Maedhros. “Command me then. Possess me. I can endure my lust no longer.” However, when he turned, his lover was rummaging in the nightstand. “Maitmo! What are you… Ai!” Maedhros kicked him in the shin. Having found what he needed, Maedhros handed it to Fingon.  
“Shut up and prepare yourself.” Fingon took the proffered object to find that it was a bottle. Now it was his turn to wear a roguish grin as he poured the oil over his fingers and eased one into himself. His breath caught at the sensation. He was unbelievably tight after such a long period of abstinence and he didn’t miss the way Maedhros’s dark eyes were fixed on the finger disappearing into him.  
Fingon resolved to have Maedhros touching himself before he finished his preparation. He worked a second finger in and stretched himself, being sure to make quite a show of it. Still, Maedhros watched but didn’t move. In frustration, Fingon shoved in another finger, jabbing at his prostate hard enough to make him scream with the pleasure of it. The corner of Maedhros’s mouth twitched but nothing more. Fingon slumped in defeat.  
“I don’t know why you even try,” Maedhros said haughtily before dragging Fingon all the way onto the bed and shoving his face into the pillows. Fingon felt a twinge of humiliation at his undignified and vulnerable posture. “So,” Maedhros continued, “Is my most loyal subject ready to pay ultimate tribute.”  
Fingon shifted enough to be able to speak, “Yes! Take everything, my lord.”  
At this Maedhros tossed back his head and laughed, “I intend to.”  
In that moment, he looked every bit the dreadful warrior from whom orcs fed in terror. Not for the first time in his life, Fingon wondered at his own bravery that he was about to let this person take him. He thought no more then as his senses overwhelmed reason. Maedhros sheathed himself in one swift movement and continued to slam into him unrelentingly. It was all Fingon could manage to brace himself against the headboard. He knew he was moaning and screaming in a frenzied mix of Quenya and Sindarin. Maedhros fingers were digging into his hip. He wasn’t sure whether the liquid running down his leg was sweat or blood and he didn’t care. Fingon came hard. For the moment, he didn’t have the strength to brace himself and Maedhros still had not reached climax.  
Maedhros pulled out to flip Fingon on his back. Pinning him to the mattress with his right forearm, he continued the onslaught. Fingon lay still, watching Maedhros from within the coppery curtain of hair. Now that he had climaxed, the thrusts were beginning to hurt and fear rose as he began to feel trapped. When he thought he could take it no longer, Maedhros came inside him. When he got his bearings again, he kissed Fingon’s nose and smiled. “You were beyond wonderful, my dearest.”  
As Maedhros cleaned up and prepared for bed, Fingon laid thinking about how silly that instant of fear had been. Always he feared at the end and always everything turned out fine. Perhaps that was only part of the appeal of this little game. After all, everyone knew that Fingon the Valiant was not afraid to play with fire.


End file.
